


The Writing's On The Wall

by IdrisTardis7878



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan Little Bang 2018, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Fun is made (lovingly) at Will Scarlet's expense, Henry is too smart and cute for his own good, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, The mentions of past!Millian and past!Gremma are positive, The mentions of past!Swanfire are not, Zelena being Zelena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 05:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13827450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisTardis7878/pseuds/IdrisTardis7878
Summary: Normally quiet and sleepy, Storybrooke, Maine has been going through the polar opposite of a crime wave. There hasn’t been even so much as an incident of shoplifting in MONTHS. Until the day an anonymous graffiti artist starts leaving murals and street art all over prominent town buildings. Who’s behind it? Why don’t the townspeople want to press charges if/when the “vandal” is caught? And what does all of this have to do with Sheriff Emma Swan and local bakery owner Killian Jones?





	The Writing's On The Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Possible triggers: I’m not really sure I’d consider these triggers, but this fic does contain mentions of past!Millian and past!Gremma (both in a positive light) and past!Swanfire (in a negative light), so if none of those things float your boat, I’d recommend taking a miss on this one.
> 
> A/N: It’s hard to believe this day is finally here!! I felt like I ate/slept/breathed this fic for so long and then ended up having to wait the whole month of February to post, lol. Seriously, though, it’s humbling to be the “grand finale” of the CSLB, and I only hope my work lives up to the honor. This month has once again proved the depth and breadth of talent possessed by the writers and artists in the OUAT and CS fandoms. You guys all rock and should be very proud of what you’ve achieved!!
> 
> This fic was a labor of love - and it’s the longest thing that I’ve written and completed in forever - so I am extremely excited to share it with you all. I couldn’t have done it without my amazing beta, Hollie aka @the-captains-ayebrows who helped me refine the plot and pacing in so many ways - this story wouldn’t be half of what it is without her input - and my wonderful artist, Bianca i.e. @shipsxahoy who made the beautiful banner at the top of my tumblr post for the fic and a seriously awesome gifset that you can find on her tumblr. I also want to thank the mods and the entire team at the @captainswanbigbang for running such a wonderful CSLB event (and for putting up with my frequent down-to-the-wire check ins and over-the-top word counts). You ladies have done a wonderful job and I’m so grateful to have been a part of it!! Now, without further ado (too late!!), The Writing’s On The Wall.

**_February 13th - Midday..._ **

 

_ In retrospect, _ Emma thought,  _ I really should have seen this coming. _

 

Life in Storybrooke had been quiet – almost freakishly so – for the last few months. Not that the small, sleepy coastal Maine town she called home was normally a hotbed of criminal activity, but usually there was  _ something _ going on that required her to flash her badge and threaten the local riffraff with a night in one of the cells at the sheriff’s station.

 

But not lately. It was mid-February and quite literally  _ nothing  _ arrest-worthy had happened since early December when she’d locked up Will Scarlet for attempting to steal the holiday decorations off the town common.

 

She knew for a fact that had been the last arrest she’d made, as Scarlet’s motives had been memorable. Apparently, he’d had some half-cocked idea of holding the decorations hostage until the mayor agreed to “ransom” them back for a hefty fee. (Emma had laughed for a solid minute when he’d explained. As if Regina would  _ ever  _ have gone along with that).

 

Since then, though - nothing.

 

No bar fights, no petty theft, no DUIs, no domestic disturbances, no vandalism...not even any cats stuck in trees.

 

Emma’d had little to do except catch up on backlogged paperwork and  _ finally _ start converting the sheriff’s department’s oldest files from hard-copy to digital.

 

In other words, she was bored out of her freaking mind.

 

Or she  _ had _ been.

 

Because now, suddenly, the crime drought had ended rather spectacularly.

 

Emma had practically stumbled on the scene of the crime when she’d left the station a little before noon. She’d already been running late for Galentine’s Day lunch with Mary-Margaret - a longstanding tradition they’d kept up since meeting at the University of Southern Maine nearly ten years ago - when she’d seen it.

 

It had been hard - if not impossible - to miss.

 

“What the  _ actual  _ hell?!” Emma exclaimed, stopping dead in her tracks and staring at the building opposite the station. The response felt entirely appropriate when confronted with fifteen foot tall graffiti that absolutely  _ hadn’t _ been there that morning. Whoever the culprit was, they were pretty talented, but also extremely brazen. They’d vandalized the brick wall of a two story office building in broad daylight, not twenty-five feet away from the sheriff’s station.  _ Apparently, they didn’t care if they got caught _ , Emma mused.  _ I mean, it’s beautiful, but that’s pretty damn cocky. _

 

Sighing, Emma pulled out her phone to call Mary-Margaret and let her know she was going to be running even later for lunch, and that she’d explain when she got there.

 

All the while, her eyes barely strayed from the wall looming above her, adorned with a stunning multitude of simple (yet gorgeously painted) hearts in varying sizes and shades of pink, red, white, and purple.

 

(If she took a few more photos than were strictly necessary for the case file, that was her secret).

* * *

 

**_January 19th - Late Afternoon..._ **

 

The bell above Second Star Bakery’s door jangled loudly, signaling that said door had been thrown open with considerable force. Though he would’ve liked to offer a sharp word to the culprit about the civilized way to enter a room, Killian kept his attention on the cupcakes he’d been in the middle of frosting, slowly looking up towards the source of the noise. The polite, “customer-service” smile on his face melted into something more genuine when he saw who his visitor was, and he approached the front of the shop with a spring in his step.

 

"Henry, what brings you by on a Friday? I wasn't expecting you till tomorrow afternoon for your usual visit with your Mum," he said, leaning on top of the display case nearest to the door and looking curiously at Henry Swan. The boy rocked slightly on his feet, shifting his weight side-to-side and averting his eyes when Killian’s gaze landed on him.

 

"I know, but I needed to talk to you about something and it couldn't wait any longer.” He was unusually fidgety. It struck Killian as odd, but before he could ask about it, Henry’d started speaking again. "Um...can you take a break for a few minutes?"

 

A tendril of concern tickled the back of Killian’s mind, but he tamped it down. Henry’d always been a good lad, and Killian was sure that, given a chance, he would explain what was on his mind. “Of course I can,” he nodded at Henry before pointing to the case in between them. “Now, how serious is this conversation? Does it require cupcakes, cookies, or eclairs?”

 

Henry shook his head, and his brow briefly furrowed in thought. “Pie,” he replied firmly after a few moments of careful consideration.

 

Killian arched an eyebrow. “Ah, that  _ is  _ serious,” he said, bending down and fetching the nearest pie out of the case. “Apple spice alright?”

 

Henry nodded and moved through the cafe tables dotting the bakery floor, heading for one towards the back. Leaving one of his sales associates, Wendy, in charge of things up front, Killian warmed a couple of healthy-sized slices of the pie and put them on a tray. Propping the tray on his left forearm, he steadied it with his good hand and carefully navigated between the tables. (Times like these always made him wish he had full use of his left hand, but an accident nearly seven years ago had taken his naval career - and much more - with it. He’d never regained full range of motion in his left hand, but he’d adapted to the injury - the other losses had been harder to recover from). Sliding into the chair opposite Henry, he waited while the boy dug into his pie.

 

And waited.

 

And waited. 

 

Though he was determined to give Henry enough time to bring up whatever was on his mind, after several silent moments stretched between them, Killian couldn’t resist nudging the conversation along. “Henry...I thought you wanted to talk. Are you sure everything’s alright?”

 

Though his attention had been focused solely on his pie until that moment, at Killian’s question Henry sat back in his chair with a sigh. His eyes flicked up to meet Killian’s hesitantly. “If you thought that...someone liked you...like... _ that _ way...but they hadn’t really said anything, what would you do?”

 

_ Ah,  _ Killian thought, inwardly relieved. _ Girl problems. This I can handle. I think. _

 

He folded his arms on the table and leaned towards Henry, regarding him with a grin. “Well, first things first. Are the feelings mutual?”

 

Henry’s gaze locked on his. Killian had the distinct (and slightly unsettling) feeling the boy was trying to read him - but what exactly he was looking for, Killian wasn’t sure. He seemed to find it after a moment, nodding thoughtfully as he replied. “I  _ think _ so. I mean...” He paused to take a large bite of his pie. “...I’m pretty sure.”

 

“Well,” Killian scratched lightly behind his ear. “I think you have to figure that out for definite before you decide how to approach this other person. It could be pretty awkward otherwise.”

 

Henry put down his fork and opened his mouth as if to speak before closing it again immediately - an action he repeated twice more before a look of determination crossed his features and he blurted, “okaywellhowdoyoureallyfeelaboutmymomthen?”

 

The tinny strains of a Mumford and Sons tune floating out from the kitchen were suddenly the loudest noises in the entire bakery.

 

But the only thing Killian could hear was his heartbeat skidding to a complete halt before promptly lurching into overdrive.

 

“Pardon?” he asked, sure he must have misheard Henry’s (admittedly rather garbled) question - yet simultaneously sure he hadn’t. “Say that again? Perhaps with breaths between the words?”

 

Henry slumped back in his chair. “I  _ said _ how do you really feel about my mom?”

 

_ Right, so the lad  _ **_did_ ** _ say those words. In that order. Right. _

 

Killian took a deep breath, trying to school his features into something closer to nonchalance than panic. (He had a feeling he failed based on the way Henry was looking at him).

 

“Henry,” he began cautiously, “I don’t understand...I thought you were asking me about someone at school...someone who you thought fancied  _ you _ .”

 

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head vigorously before pausing to contradict himself. “I mean, yeah, there kinda  _ is  _ someone I think I might like, but that’s  _ so _ not the point of this conversation,” he finished before renewing his previously abandoned attack on his pie.

 

“Not the point...” Killian echoed faintly, scrubbing a hand over his face and back through his hair. This was, quite literally, the last thing he’d expected when he’d opened up shop in the morning. For the first time in the slightly more than three years since he’d owned the bakery, Killian was actually glad there were hardly any customers - with the wildfire nature of Storybrooke’s gossip mill, this conversation was the last thing he wanted anyone overhearing.

 

_ He can’t  _ **_know_ ** _ ,  _ Killian thought.  _ He can’t. _

 

_ But then why bring it up? _ His inner voice countered in annoyingly logical fashion.

 

“Henry,” he tried again, “why would you ask me that?”

 

Henry stopped just short of rolling his eyes. “I was just doing what you said.”

 

That didn’t clarify anything. “What do you mean?”

 

“What do  _ you _ mean, what do I mean?” Henry asked, putting his fork down. “You said finding out if the feelings were definitely mutual was really important before figuring out how to talk to the other person. So that’s what I was doing. So,” he asked again, “how exactly do you feel about my mom?”

 

Killian still could not fathom that this conversation was really happening, but Henry seemed as though he could - and  _ would  _ \- stay planted in his chair until Killian answered him, so he chose his next words carefully. “You know I care a great deal for your mother, lad. We’ve known each other for several years now - her friendship means the world to me, and I wouldn’t trade having her in my life for anything.”

 

Henry simply looked at him for a few moments before throwing his hands up in the air. “Friendship?! Really?!  _ That’s _ what you’re going with?!”

 

“Aye,” he said gently. “It’s the truth, Henry.”

 

Now, the boy  _ did _ roll his eyes. “Yeah,” he scoffed, “but not all of it...especially not when I think my mom might be in love with you.”

* * *

**_February 13th - Lunchtime..._ **

 

“Well, whoever did this...it’s gorgeous,” Mary-Margaret mused, handing Emma her phone back after looking at the photos of the mural.

 

“Yeah, but...unfortunately, it’s also a crime,” Emma replied, pocketing her phone after taking one last glance at the photos. “Or it should be.”

 

Mary-Margaret tilted her head inquisitively. “What d’you mean?”

 

Emma sighed, leaning her elbows on the table and picking at her last few onion rings. “I canvassed the people who work in the building, but only a couple of the offices are actually occupied, and neither tenant was bothered by the graffiti. In fact, they really liked it.” Mary-Margaret hummed thoughtfully before Emma continued. “It’s one of the few buildings in town  _ not  _ owned by the immortally cranky Mr. Gold, and when I called the landlord to notify him, he’d already heard about the incident and didn’t want to press charges when and  _ if  _ we found the ‘artist’ in question. Said it sounded like it improved the value of his property.”

 

The pair sat in silence for a moment. “Well,” Mary-Margaret said eventually, “I guess that’s actually lucky for you, right?”

 

“How so?”

 

“Now that you don’t have to chase down leads on this mysterious artist-vandal, you won’t have to work late on Valentine’s Day. See? Lucky!!”

 

Emma chuckled and shook her head. Mary-Margaret was an eternal optimist who saw the best in everyone. Emma was convinced it was this innate decency and kindness that had led Mary-Margaret to befriend her when she was a 20 year old freshman and single mother commuting to USM’s Portland campus from some no name town an hour up the coast.

 

Though a junior when they’d met, Mary-Margaret had been the same age as Emma, and had slipped into her life as if she’d been there forever. The fact that Mary-Margaret had gotten a job teaching at Storybrooke Elementary after graduation, and had married Emma’s friend and co-worker David Nolan ensured she probably  _ would  _ be in Emma’s life for the foreseeable future. Her sunny disposition generally balanced out Emma’s more pragmatic (some would say prickly) take on things - but occasionally, they just didn’t see eye to eye, and when it came to Valentine’s Day, they couldn’t be further apart.

 

Of  _ course _ Mary-Margaret, being so kind-hearted, would be enthusiastic about a holiday devoted to love and romance. Emma didn’t have anything against  _ actual _ love and romance, but an overly commercialized holiday devoted to a sappy version of it? That she could do without. “Just because I don’t have to work  _ late _ doesn’t mean I don’t have to work,” Emma replied. “It’s not  _ that _ lucky.”

 

Mary-Margaret shrugged in response, her optimism undeterred. “Well, do you at least have any plans for tomorrow night?”

 

Emma narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think I like where I think you’re headed with that question.”

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Mary-Margaret’s eyes were wide, her tone a shade too innocent.

 

“Uh huh,” Emma muttered. “Sure you don’t.”

 

Mary-Margaret frowned briefly before finishing her coffee and putting the cup down with a sigh. “I only want you to be happy, you know that, right?”

 

Now it was Emma’s turn to sigh. “I’ve got a wonderful family, friends who care a frankly ridiculous amount about me,” Emma raised an eyebrow, causing Mary-Margaret to chuckle, “and an amazing kid. I  _ am _ happy.”

 

“I  _ do  _ know that - and I’m glad,” Mary-Margaret said, though her words were laced with concern. “But you know that’s not the kind of happiness I’m talking about. When’s the last time you went on a date?”

 

“I don’t need to have romantic plans on a made up holiday in order to be happy, Mary-Margaret,” Emma said, weariness creeping into her tone. They’d had similar discussions before.

 

“I know you don’t  _ have _ to, but-”

 

“Besides, I’ve had dates on and off over the past few years,” Emma cut in. “You’re really talking about more than that.”

 

“Yeah, I am,” Mary-Margaret conceded. She paused, her gaze flicking to Emma’s before proceeding hesitantly. “It’s been almost four years since Graham died...I’m just afraid that between dealing with losing him and the impact of your past with Neal, you’ve closed yourself off. I don’t want that for you, Emma.”

 

Emma didn’t really have a comeback for that. Neal had been a con and a cheat, not to mention too old for her teenage self, and the only good thing he’d brought into her life had been Henry. Her history with him featured frequently in conversations about Emma’s lackluster love-life (generally with Emma tossing a good amount of expletives in his direction), but Mary-Margaret didn’t usually bring up Graham.

 

Graham had been everything Neal wasn’t - kind, patient, funny, and sweet. They’d fallen into an easy relationship not long after Emma’s post-college return to Storybrooke. Under the former sheriff, Art King, they and David had been co-deputies in the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department. Graham had charmed her effortlessly almost from the start. They’d been happy for about eighteen months, until he’d collapsed one day during his morning run - ripped away out of the blue by an undiagnosed congenital heart defect.

 

Emma took a deep breath and released it slowly. If she were being honest, she’d have to admit that after Graham’s death, she’d turned inward - protectively walling off her heart against further hurt. She hadn’t really had a serious relationship since - but the pain of losing Graham was only one reason.

 

_ Yeah, but you can’t exactly admit that the other major reason you’re not actively looking for something serious is that you’ve gone and developed feelings for Killian, _ Emma thought.  _ At least, not without Mary-Margaret completely freaking out on you and trying to get you to actually  _ **_do_ ** _ something about them. _

 

“Emma?” Mary-Margaret’s soft voice broke through Emma’s internal musings and pulled her back to the present. “I’m sorry if I pushed - I just care about you and I want the best for you. Sometimes I get carried away”

 

“It’s alright, you didn’t,” Emma said, reaching out to squeeze Mary-Margaret’s hand. “Honest. But I’m really fine - and you have my word that I’m happy. I promise if that changes, you’ll be the first to know.”

 

Mary-Margaret nodded, squeezing Emma’s hand in return. “Deal.”

 

“As far as tomorrow, I wouldn’t have time for a date anyway. I’ve got to get Henry ready for the school dance and embarrass him by taking as many photos as humanly possible,” Emma said. “That’s all the Valentine’s excitement I need.”

 

Emma felt slightly guilty for not revealing she  _ did _ , in fact, have plans with Killian after Henry went to the dance. It wasn’t a date, so  _ technically  _ she wasn’t lying, but she was aware if Mary-Margaret knew, she’d take it the wrong way. Emma just didn’t have the energy to convince her that movie night with Killian, beer, and a giant pepperoni pizza was completely and totally platonic.

 

(Not that she wanted it to be. But the one thing she wanted more than exploring a relationship with Killian was to not lose him from her life. Anything that had the potential to wreck their friendship - like the fact she’d been well on her way to in love with him for most of the past year - was firmly off limits).

* * *

**_January 19th - Late Afternoon..._ **

 

Killian gaped at Henry, positive his jaw was on the floor. He tried - and failed - to form words several times before finally finding his voice.

 

“I’m fairly certain you’re mistaken,” he said. “Granted, your mother and I are very close, but we’re just friends.”

 

Henry shook his head. “C’mon, Killian. I’m twelve, not stupid - and I know what I heard.”

 

_ That _ got Killian’s attention. “What are you talking about?”

 

“It was a few weeks ago,” Henry explained. “Just before New Year’s Eve. It was late, and I was getting ready for bed, but I’d forgotten some of my school books in the kitchen. When I went downstairs to get them...I overheard my mom talking to Auntie Elsa on the phone.”

 

“Eavesdropping is bad form, lad,” Killian admonished.

 

“I know - and I didn’t  _ mean _ to. But she sounded kinda sad and I wanted to make sure she was okay, so I stayed and listened for a few minutes...and she was talking about you.”

 

Killian’s stomach churned at the thought that something about him had upset Emma. Causing her any sorrow or discomfort was the  _ last _ thing Killian wanted. Against his better judgment (this felt far too much like gossiping behind Emma’s back), Killian asked, “why was she upset?”

 

Henry averted his gaze for a moment before looking back at Killian. “She said something about not being able to change how she feels, but not being able to tell you the truth either...and something about not knowing what to do. Then she just said ‘yeah’ and ‘uh huh’ a lot while Auntie Elsa must have been talking.”

 

“You still shouldn’t have listened to your mother’s conversation, Henry,” Killian said. A headache was starting to form behind his temples. “But all I can ask is that you not do it again.” He pushed back his chair and stood up, gathering their plates and cups. “I’m afraid I have to get back to work, but you know you’re welcome anytime.”

 

“That’s it?!” Henry cried in disbelief, following Killian towards the counter. “You’re not going to  _ do _ anything about this?!”

 

Kilian dumped their plates into a rubber kitchen tub earmarked for used dishware and turned to face Henry, crossing his arms over his chest. “What exactly do you want me to do? I don’t think what you heard means your mum’s in love with me. Just that there’s something she feels she can’t tell me right now.”

 

“Yeah,” Henry retorted, “It’s that she loves you!”

 

“Henry, listen-”

 

“I’m pretty observant,” Henry cut in, “and I know both of you look at each other differently than you do anybody else - by the way, you should know it’s really sappy - and you spend a ton of time together, and...you care about each other, like, a  _ lot _ . Plus, you take care of each other all the time. You’re...you’re almost as coupley as the Nolans!” he finished triumphantly, as if that statement alone proved all of his points.

 

“Nobody’s as coupley as the Nolans,” Killian rebutted. “Henry...I want you to know I’ve heard you,” he said seriously, “but the friendship I have with you and your mum is precious to me...I don’t want to do anything to risk it.”

 

It was as close to an admission of feelings as he could bring himself to allow.

 

Henry shook his head,disappointment filling his gaze. “But don’t you think you’re losing out on something even more special if you don’t take the risk?”

 

Killian didn’t quite know what to say to that, and before he could come up with an appropriate response, the bell over the door was jingling once more, signaling Henry’s departure.

 

* * *

**_January 24th - Dinnertime…in Storybrooke, at least..._ **

 

“H’lo?” the voice slurred out a greeting after the person on the other end of the phone  _ finally _ picked up.

 

“Liam?” Killian asked, before catching sight of the clock and doing a quick mental calculation. “Ah, shit...sorry. You were already asleep, weren’t you?”

 

“Almost,” his brother sounded slightly more alert now. “You caught me just in the nick of time, little brother. Now, to what do I owe the honor of this late night transatlantic call?”

 

Killian bit back the automatic correction of  _ younger brother _ that itched to leap off his tongue. He felt badly enough for not thinking about the time difference before calling - he didn’t want to get sidetracked by protesting a habit Liam was never likely to change. Besides, he  _ really  _ needed advice. “I need your opinion on something, Liam.”

 

“Must be important - I can hear the nerves in your voice from here,” his brother quipped. 

 

Killian nodded, even though he knew Liam couldn’t see him. “Possibly the most important thing.”

 

“Ah,” Liam said knowingly. “Must be about Emma, then. Finally decided you want to tell her you’ve been in love with her for ages, but haven’t been able to actually do it yet?”

 

“How in the world did you guess that?!” he blurted, speaking over Liam’s chuckle. “Have you been talking to Henry?”

 

Liam was silent for a long moment before responding, a bit of hesitance in his voice. “Actually, Elsa.”

 

“What?!” Killian was truly boggled. “When?!”

 

“We’ve been in touch a bit since I visited you last year,” Liam said briskly, clearly trying to change the subject - though Killian definitely filed it away for further discussion later. “Anyway, she sees the way you two moon about over each other as clearly as I do. We’re both a bit puzzled at why it’s taken this long for one of you to do something about it.”

 

“We’re friends,” Killian replied instantly. “She’s...my best friend, actually.”

 

“I’m going to pretend that doesn’t hurt, Kil,” Liam said dryly. “But truth be told, you wound me.”

 

“Git,” Killian replied.

 

“Wanker,” Liam answered, the laughter bleeding into his voice at their habitual sparring. After a brief pause during which Killian could hear him yawn, Liam spoke again, his tone more serious. “So, she’s your best friend. How long have you known her?”

 

“Four years. You  _ know _ that, Liam.”

 

“Aye. You met her even before you fully moved there...it was when when you visited for your mate-”

 

“Robin’s wedding, yeah,” Killian cut in, unsure of where his brother was going with his trip down memory lane.

 

“Right - he married that mildly terrifying woman, didn’t he?”

 

“Regina - though I wouldn’t let Robin hear you say that,” Killian replied, impatient for Liam to cut to the chase. “What’s your point?”

 

“My  _ point _ , little brother, is you’ve known Emma for a very long time...and you’ve each had a rough go of it. Life dealt both of you shit hands...and what’s always struck me about you both is that neither of you have ever let anything stop you from fighting for what’s important to you. Why should it be any different now, when what you want is each other?”

 

“You’re so certain she feels the same way?” Killian asked, afraid to let himself hope.

 

Liam sighed, but when he spoke again, his tone was gentler. “Elsa didn’t betray any of Emma’s specific confidences, but given what she  _ did _ say...I don’t think you have to worry...and if it’s any consolation, from what I observed of you two myself when I was there, I’d say she’s right.”

 

Killian exhaled slowly. “It’s a big leap to make. I haven’t felt this way about anyone since…”

 

“Milah,” Liam finished for him. It wasn’t a question. Killian had fallen hard for Milah Clarke when he’d only been a few years into his naval career. Losing her in a car accident not long after the incident that had crushed his hand and ended his career had sent Killian reeling and it had taken him a long time - and no small amount of help from Liam - to pull himself out of his grief and heal. 

 

“Yeah,” Killian replied. “So you can see why I’m terrified of screwing it up. I just...what if I tell her I want to be with her, and she says no?”

 

“Mm,” Liam hummed in agreement. “You’re forgetting one thing, little brother.”

 

“What?” Killian asked, pressing the phone tighter against his ear, as if he could absorb Liam’s words through sheer force of will.

 

“You’re not with her  _ now _ , and if you never say anything there won’t even be a  _ chance  _ of that changing. Be brave, Kil. It’ll be worth it.”

 

* * *

**_Valentine’s Day - Mid-morning..._ **

 

**_KJ: Alright. Operation The Writing’s On The Wall is a go!_ **

 

_ HS: Excellent! And Killian? _

 

**_KJ: Yes?_ **

 

_ HS: I’m glad you decided to take the risk. :) _

 

**_KJ: Me too, lad. Me too._ **

 

_ HS: Oh, and Killian...I think I’m gonna take a risk too. _

 

**_KJ: ?_ **

 

_ HS: I’m going to ask Violet to dance tonight at the school’s Valentine thing. Wish me luck! _

 

**_KJ: Best of luck, Henry._ **

 

Killian sent the final text, pocketed his phone, and picked up the first can of spray paint, ready to enact the plan he and Henry had concocted during ad hoc “strategy sessions” at the bakery. The lad had been persistent - showing up at Second Star after school every day for a week with different pieces of “evidence” supporting his case. All that, plus Liam’s recent advice, had convinced Killian to take action.

 

Thus, Operation The Writing’s on The Wall had been born.

 

(The name had been Henry’s idea).

 

Henry had also opened up a bit during their conversations about his blossoming affections for one of his classmates, Violet Clemens. Killian was touched Henry had turned to him for advice, though given the state of his own romantic affairs, he wasn’t sure he’d been able to help him very much.

 

He still wasn’t sure this wouldn’t end in spectacular disaster. Though he’d known deep down for some time that he’d been falling in love with Emma, because of past hurts he’d been afraid to explore it. But he’d come to realize Henry and Liam were right, he couldn’t keep holding back the truth. No matter how this turned out, he had to at least  _ try  _ to tell her. He didn’t know if this was the best way, but Henry had convinced him if Emma were going to take his declaration seriously, he needed to get her attention in a big way.

 

_ When did I start taking romantic advice from a pre-teen? _ He thought with a shake of his head. Contemplating the stretch of blank wall in front of him he hefted the can, adjusting it slightly to get a better grip with his good hand.  _ No matter. In for a penny, in for a pound… _

 

He raised his arm and took a deep breath. As he exhaled, he let the paint fly in graceful arcs across the brick, nearly closing his eyes as he lost himself in the rhythm of the work.

 

_ If this works, it’ll all be worth it... _

 

* * *

**_Valentine’s Day - at night…_ **

 

Emma shifted from foot to foot, cradling a warm pizza box in her arms and waiting impatiently for Killian to respond to her fervent knocking. After another moment or two had passed without any sign of him coming to let her in, she reached up and thumped on the door again. “C’mon, Jones!” she shouted for good measure. “The pizza’s getting cold...and so am I!!”

 

Finally, she heard shuffling footsteps coming down the hallway and the door to his seaside cottage swung slowly open. Killian grinned at her. “Evening, Swan. Patient as ever, I see.”

 

“Uggh,” she groaned, pushing past him with a good-natured bump of her shoulder against his. “I was freezing my ass off out there. Quite literally.”

 

He chuckled as he closed the door behind her. “Now, that  _ would  _ be a shame, it’s true.”

 

Her stomach swooped and she felt herself flush a little - to hide her reaction to his teasing, she turned and put the pizza box down on the kitchen island. Arching a brow at him. “I’d think you’d have a little more sympathy, especially considering I brought you pizza. Instead, you’re mocking me for falling prey to the vagaries of Maine winter weather.”

 

“Vagaries?” Killian asked, quirking his own eyebrow at her, he moved to the cabinet to get them plates. “Interesting word choice.”

 

She shrugged. “Hey, I do listen when you fancy-talk.  _ Sometimes _ .”

 

He snorted and set the plates down next to the pizza. “How kind of you.”

 

“You know I try,” she said with a laugh before walking back to the entryway to hang up her coat. She paused as she passed back through the open plan living area, taking a moment to soak up the room’s coziness. It was one of Emma’s favorite places. An inviting, squishy-soft sofa faced a series of built in shelves crammed with books, knickknacks, and photos. The shelves flanked a squat fireplace lit with a warmly crackling fire. Killian’s television sat in one corner, and an armchair that matched the sofa was in another. Above the mantel hung a beautiful seascape that had been painted by Killian’s late mother, Alice. 

 

(Apparently, Killian had taken after his mother artistically - though he’d long denied it, saying his talent never amounted to more than “doodling.” It frustrated Emma greatly that he’d never shown her much of his work). 

 

When she returned to the kitchen, Killian had slipped two slices onto each of their plates and was rummaging around in his fridge for their beers. “So...what are we watching tonight?”

 

Killian handed her the plates, tucked a roll of paper towel under his left arm, and picked up the beers with his good hand, nodding in the direction of his television. “You can look over the selection yourself,” he murmured. “I had a bit of trouble deciding.”

 

“Really?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him as she moved to sit. “That’s not like you.”

 

He chuckled softly as he followed her and sat down on the other end of the sofa. “Yes, well,” he said, trading her one of the beer bottles for one of the plates of pizza. “Your list of off-limits movies was rather lengthy.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “I just didn’t want to be hit over the head for two hours with soppy romantic cliches. I get enough of those when I do movie night with Mary-Margaret. I’ve hit my quota for the year already, I think.” 

 

“That  _ is _ impressive, seeing as we’re only halfway through February,” he grinned, before taking a pull from his beer.

 

“Mm, well that’s Mary-Margaret for ya,” Emma concurred, leaning forward to look at the DVDs spread over the surface of the coffee table. There were action movies, a couple of selections from Marvel, and - predictably, where Killian was concerned -  _ Star Wars _ . But a DVD set slightly apart from the others caught her eye. She grinned.  _ Perfect _ . “Hmmm...how about that one?” 

 

Killian nodded and got up to put  _ Garden State _ in the player. They fell into a comfortable silence for a while, enjoying their pizza and beer, sometimes watching the movie and sometimes ignoring it in favor of trading their more colorful stories from the past week. (When Emma recounted the tale of her mysterious and artistic vandal, an odd expression flashed over Killian’s face, but it was gone and he was telling her about one of his amusing regulars at the bakery before she could process what had happened). 

 

Around the point in the film when Zach Braff and Natalie Portman were standing on top of construction equipment at the bottom of a quarry and screaming their heads off, Killian glanced over at her, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “How’d it go...getting Henry ready for the dance?”

 

She sighed and rolled her head to the side so she could look at him without sitting up from where she was slumped into the couch. He was closer than he’d been before - the two of them had gravitated into each other bit by bit during the course of the film. “You just  _ had  _ to bring that up, didn’t you? Part of the point of this movie night was to help me forget that for a while.”

 

He chuckled, shifting closer as he spoke. “C’mon now, Swan. Surely it couldn’t have been  _ that  _ bad.” He nudged her shoulder gently with his own. “It must have been at least a little bit exciting.”

 

Emma didn’t answer immediately, staring at the television without really seeing it. Finally, she nodded, albeit reluctantly. “It was...a  _ bit _ ...but also kinda terrifying...realizing he’s old enough to be excited about going to school dances.” She let herself lean further into Killian, dropping her head on his shoulder. Normally, she’d hold herself back more - casually touching him made her  _ want  _ things she was sure she couldn’t have, and she usually made sure to only do it in the smallest of doses - but tonight she just needed the comfort of his solid presence. “Is it horribly cliched if I say it felt like he was a toddler just a few days ago?”

 

“Not at all, Swan,” he murmured, curling his arm around her shoulders and pulling her further into his side.  _ This is comfortable _ , she thought to herself.  _ Dangerously so _ . But she couldn’t bring herself to pull away, soaking up Killian’s warmth as he continued. “It’s only natural you’d feel that way since the lad’s started showing an interest in dating and-”

 

She jerked upright, the motion causing his arm to fall away from her. But the flicker of regret she felt at that was mixed with a much larger dose of astonishment. “Dating? Who said anything about Henry  _ dating _ ?! Do you know something I don’t know? Killian, has he told you he  _ likes  _ someone?! Who?”

 

The apples of Killian’s cheeks flushed ever-so-slightly pink, which Emma secretly found adorable - but she pushed down the flip-flopping sensation in her stomach and waited him out. She needed answers about Henry too badly to think about how Killian somehow became even more handsome when he was flustered.

 

Finally, he spoke, tilting his head down and glancing up at her from under a slightly furrowed brow. “The lad...err...he  _ does  _ talk to me from time to time, Swan. Without betraying his trust, I  _ can  _ say there are...things...of a slightly romantic nature...that an almost-teenage boy doesn’t exactly want to share with his mother,” he said softly, reaching out to rest his left hand gently on her knee, “no matter how close the two of you may be.”

 

Emma considered that for a moment, swallowing down the nervous flutter caused partly by the thought of Henry taking his first steps (however tentative) into the world of dating, and partly by Killian’s proximity. She must have been lost in her thoughts for longer than she’d realized, because Killian had started speaking again, this time rather hesitantly.

 

“I...I do hope it’s alright he came to me Emma. You know I would have shared it with you - or urged Henry to do so himself - if I thought it were anything for you to be worried about. I hope I haven’t overstep-”

 

“No!” she cut him off, dropping her hand on top of his and interlacing their fingers. His eyes followed her action, seemingly transfixed by the way she’d reached for his injured hand without a second thought. “You didn’t - not at  _ all _ . Killian,” she paused, waiting for him to look up at her before continuing. “I’m glad he feels he can talk to you about things like that...you have to know, I’m so glad he has you.”

 

“He does,” Killian agreed earnestly, his gaze never leaving hers. “You both do.”

 

Emma’s pulse picked up as the air around them thickened and grew warmer. Her mouth was suddenly dry and nothing could have torn her gaze away from Killian in that moment. For his part, he seemed equally transfixed, his eyes finally breaking from hers to flick down to her lips.  _ Is he getting closer or is that me?  _ Emma wondered.  _ Maybe it’s both of us _ . Killian opened his mouth to speak again - to say what, she didn’t know - when suddenly her phone started ringing.

 

_ Craaaaaaaap. _

 

-/-

 

Killian watched as Emma leapt off the couch, struggling to yank her phone out of her pocket before the caller hung up. She managed to answer it just in time, mouthing  _ sorry _ at him before disappearing into his kitchen to take the call.

 

He flopped into the cushions with a sigh before scrubbing his hand through his hair.  _ How the bloody hell did that happen?! _ One minute they’d been having a totally normal movie night, and the next they were bang in the middle of what had felt like some sort of relationship changing moment.  _ Almost.  _ The truly boggling thing was that they had reached that point, but not at  _ all  _ in the way Killian had anticipated.

 

_ Of course, if you’d gotten over your own nerves and eased into declaring your feelings the way you’d planned, things might have been very different right about now...one way or another. _

 

Glancing over the back of the couch, Killian could see Emma pacing around the kitchen with increasing speed, her phone still glued to her ear. She was gesturing emphatically with her free hand, the tone of her voice rising in pitch. Though he couldn’t really make out what she was saying, he had no trouble catching it when she semi-growled “are you  _ fucking kidding me _ , David?!”

 

Killian wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or disappointed that it seemed their evening were coming to an abrupt and unexpected end. The ache of his as-yet unconfessed feelings mingled unpleasantly with relief that he hadn’t done something to utterly screw up their friendship. 

 

“Hey, I’m so sorry, but I’ve gotta run,” Emma said, striding back into the living area, her words pulling him from his reverie. “You would  _ not  _ believe what I’m going to have to go deal with.”

 

Killian got to his feet, following her towards the entryway. He leaned against the wall, watching her bundle herself back into her coat. “Scarlet?” he guessed. She nodded. “What’s he done now, then?”

 

She whirled to face him, her expression a picture of exasperation. “Disturbed the peace, for one. He had the oh-so-brilliant idea that serenading his ex on Valentine’s Day would be the best way to get her back. It seems that neither she, or her new girlfriend, agreed.”

 

“Oh dear,” Killian said with feigned sympathy, his eyebrow quirking up. “That  _ is _ unfortunate.”

 

“Yeah,” Emma grumbled. “Ana’s neighbors didn’t take too kindly to it either, as he decided he was going to stand under her window and belt out love songs for half an hour. David’s still on scene taking statements. I get the fun job of picking Scarlet up at the hospital and arresting him once they’re done treating him.”

 

“ _ What _ ?”

 

“Oh, yeah...the best part is I’m also going to have to charge him with public indecency. He decided the perfect way to carry out his plan was dressed as Cupid.”

 

“In Maine? In February?!” Killian asked incredulously. “What was he thinking?!”

 

Emma shoved her beanie back down over her curls. “Who the hell knows what, or  _ if _ , he’s ever thinking. Apparently, his...loincloth or whatever...was very, um, skimpy. David mentioned they’re worried about frostbite.”

 

“Jesus,” Killian muttered, “I actually almost feel sorry for him.”

 

“Yeah,” Emma nodded. “I guess his heart was in the right place...but some guys are just not cut out for grand romantic gestures. Anyway,” she looked up at him, her gaze unmistakably tinged with regret, “I’m sorry I’ve gotta cut our movie night short, especially for this nonsense...but I’d better get a move on.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Swan,” he said. “I understand - duty calls. Maybe we can get lunch this week.”

 

“I’d like that,” she said with a soft smile before turning to leave, her reluctance to go sparking a fresh wave of hope that perhaps he wasn’t alone in his feelings.

 

He shivered in the burst of cold air that swept in when she opened the door, watching her go and raising a hand to wave as she jogged down the walkway towards her car.

 

As the door swung shut, he leaned against it, his head falling against the wood with a  _ thunk _ . He scrubbed a hand over his face and back into his hair, sighing heavily. 

 

The plan - at least this part of it - had been simple. Movie night with Emma had already been on tap before he and Henry had concocted their “operation.” Whereas Henry had argued for boldly taking romantic action, Killian had thought highlighting the familiar would be comforting - he’d theorized it would put Emma at ease. 

 

So this had been the compromise - dramatic romantic graffiti to get her attention, and then a quiet night in where he’d reveal that he was the artist and then tell her he was more than halfway to being in love with her.  _ Simple, right? _ It had proved to be anything but. He sighed again and pushed himself off the door when something Emma had said suddenly struck him. A grin spread across his face, a new version of the plan beginning to take form in his mind. 

 

_ Scarlet might not be able to pull off a grand romantic gesture...but I certainly can. _

 

* * *

**_February 22 - Mid-Afternoon…_ **

 

“I take it you know Kristoff finally proposed?” Elsa asked, her expression discernibly wry even through their less-than-stellar Skype connection.

 

“Um, yeah,” Emma laughed. “If the approximately thirty texts Anna sent me over the past week hadn’t given it away, Ingrid came around the other day to share the news.”

 

“And to gently probe about your own love life, right?” Elsa arched a knowing eyebrow.

 

“Let me guess, she called you?” It wasn’t really a question. Emma knew her adoptive mother well, and she’d been expecting her visit from the moment Anna had sent her first exclamation point riddled text. It wasn’t hard to fathom Ingrid would have contacted Elsa too.

 

When she’d been bouncing her way through the foster system as a kid, Emma hadn’t imagined someone like Ingrid Fisher - a fierce and protective foster mother who hadn’t given up on her even when she’d run away, met Neal, and come back to Storybrooke pregnant and alone. Ingrid had adopted Emma as well as Elsa and Anna (her two orphaned nieces) and had never looked back. It hadn’t always been easy, but eventually the four of them had become the family Emma’d never dared to let herself dream of - something she was grateful for every day.

 

“Yup,” Elsa confirmed with a sigh. “She was fairly disappointed to hear that work’s been keeping me so busy lately. She hid it pretty well, though. I’ll give her credit.”

 

“Mm,” Emma hummed in agreement. “I got pretty much the same reaction when I told her I’m more focused on figuring out Henry’s love life than my own right now.” 

 

Elsa laughed before catching herself. “Wait a minute, are you serious? Henry has a love life? When did that happen?”

 

“I’m not really sure,” Emma’s brow furrowed, and she reached for the cup of cocoa sitting on the kitchen table. “He hasn’t really said too much to me about it - I only found out because Killian spilled the beans when I was over at his place last week.” She took a sip of cocoa. “Apparently, Henry’s been talking to him about someone at school that he likes, and he came home from the Valentine’s dance with a goofy grin and a friendship bracelet I’ve never seen before. I’ve tried to give him his space, but…”

 

“I’m sure he’ll tell you more when he’s ready, Em,” Elsa reassured. “You know you’ve got a good kid there.”

 

“A great one,” Emma agreed. “I just...I don’t want to pull an Ingrid on him, but...I guess I’m understanding how she feels a bit more. It’s tough when your kid gets their first real crush - he’s growing up faster than I can deal with.”

 

Elsa looked at her sympathetically for a moment. “If anyone can make it through the terrible tween years, it’s going to be you and Henry, Emma.”

 

“I know. I do. Really.” She smiled at her adoptive sister gratefully. She was still a bit rattled by Henry’s burgeoning romance and the fact he didn’t seem to want to share too much about it with her, but talking with Elsa always had a way of calming her down and making her see things more clearly. “Anyway...I know you must want to hear about all the crazy things you’ve missed out on here this past week.”

 

Elsa laughed. “True. I know that Anna’s engagement can’t have been the only big news. I need my weekly dose of Storybrooke gossip.”   
  


Emma spent the next forty-five minutes filling Elsa in on the happenings of their small hometown, and listening as Elsa related the news of her week in Boston. She missed her sister deeply, but was so proud of her for pursuing her legal career even though it had taken her away from home. Weekly phone or video calls were their way of staying close even when they couldn’t be in the same space and Emma cherished them.

 

She was just wrapping up telling Elsa about the absolute insanity that was the ongoing Will Scarlet saga when a thoughtful expression crossed Elsa’s face. “What’s that look for?”

 

Elsa hesitated, then looked directly at Emma, her gaze piercing even through the computer screen. “You said earlier you were at Killian’s last week, and you just mentioned you were at his place when you had to go take care of Scarlet. Did you and Killian spend Valentine’s Day together?”

 

“Oh,” Emma was caught short, not having expected that. “Um...kind of.”

 

“Kind of? What exactly does that mean, Emma?”

 

“You sound like Ingrid,” Emma grumbled, putting her now nearly empty mug down and crossing her arms over her stomach.

 

“Emma,” Elsa chided, leveling her with a look that demanded answers more effectively than anything she could have said.   
  


“It was a movie night. Just like every movie night we’ve ever had since we’ve been friends. Nothing else,” she replied, though she couldn’t meet Elsa’s eyes.

 

“Huh,” Elsa responded. “Then why are you blushing and not able to look at me?”

 

“Jeez! Are you this persistent in court?” Emma muttered.

 

“Yes,” Elsa replied calmly. “Especially when I know I’m on to something. ”

 

“Oh my  _ God _ , El!” Emma exclaimed, finally locking eyes with her. “It was a normal movie night - it  _ was _ ,” she reiterated at Elsa’s skeptical look, “but then...it got a little weird.”

 

“In what way?”

 

Emma shrugged. “We started talking about Henry...that’s when I found out he’s been talking to Killian about dating...and things got a little...emotional. Killian said something about always being there for both of us and... _ wealmostkissed _ ,” she finished, speeding through the last few words before she chickened out.

 

Elsa looked thoughtful, but not surprised. “Don’t you think this invalidates your argument?”

 

“Huh?” She stared at her sister in confusion.

 

“What we were talking about at New Year’s,” Elsa said matter-of-factly. “When you claimed you couldn’t tell Killian you were in love with him because he absolutely and positively only saw you as a good friend. Seems like that’s not so much the case, is it? I mean,” she continued, “he  _ was _ about to kiss you too, right?”   
  


Emma nodded weakly. “Yeah,” she murmured.

 

“Oh, Emma,” Elsa sighed ”I hate to see you so twisted up about this. You’ve got to tell Killian how you feel.”

 

The two women simply stared at each other for a moment, Emma spoke. “What if I’m wrong though?” she asked quietly. “Or what if he  _ does _ want something more too, but it doesn’t work out? He’s one of my best friends. I can’t lose him,” she finished, emotion rendering her voice little more than a whisper.

 

Elsa regarded Emma candidly. “First, anybody who sees the two of you together can tell how much you care about each other. When I was back home for Christmas the amount of heart eyes the two of you were making at each other was off the charts. Plus, you spent most of Ruby’s Christmas party glued to each other’s sides.” Elsa chuckled. “You’re almost more coupley than David and Mary-Margaret.”

 

“ _ No one _ is more coupley than David and Mary-Margaret,” Emma shot back instinctively, a hint of a smile finally breaking through the tension that gripped her.

 

“That may be true,” Elsa conceded, “but the two of you looked pretty darn together for people who aren’t actually dating. Liam agrees with me, by the way,” she finished before her eyes widened and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

 

“Oh he  _ does _ , does he?” Emma queried, noting that Elsa suddenly looked like she wanted to slide off her chair and out of sight. “Just how long have you two been comparing notes?”

 

Elsa straightened, shaking her head firmly. “Oh no...no deflecting. This is not about me.”

 

“Hm, countering my deflecting with evasion,” Emma mused. “That means it’s been at least a few months. Oh!” she brightened, a thought striking her. “I bet it’s been since his last visit here - you were home then for Ingrid’s birthday. Is he the real reason you’ve not had time for dating lately?”

 

“Emma!” Elsa said sharply, a pink blush staining her normally pale cheeks. “I will tell you all about it. Later. I promise. Right now, this is about you, and you have to remember a couple of important things.”

 

“I’m listening,” she murmured.

 

“As you yourself said, Killian  _ is _ one of your best friends...and he’s  _ Killian _ . Do you really think if you tried being together and - for whatever inconceivable reason - it didn’t work out, he’d just cut you out of his life? You know him better than that, Emma. That man is as loyal as they come.”

 

Emma pondered her sister’s words. Elsa  _ did  _ have a point - Killian wasn’t the sort of person who would just cut her, or Henry, out of his life if a romantic relationship between them flamed out. She thought back over their friendship - meeting him four years ago when he’d flown over for Regina’s wedding to a childhood friend of his, and re-meeting him when he’d moved back to Storybrooke to start his bakery. Graham had died in the year in between the first and second times she’d met Killian, turning Emma’s life upside down.

 

But Killian had been just who she’d so desperately needed back then - her other friends had all been too concerned, too worried, too  _ much _ . Killian hadn’t been a total stranger, but he’d been enough of an unknown quantity that being around him had been peaceful, a way of escaping the sometimes smothering shared history she had with all the people in her life who’d known and loved Graham too. Killian had slowly revealed his own hurts and losses, and his reasons for wanting a fresh start in a fresh country. Gradually their friendship had deepened, taking on a life of its own beyond comparing the battle wounds life had given them. He’d become her rock - and over this last year, she’d realized friendship just wasn’t enough to encompass everything he meant to her. She knew it was a cliche, but she’d gone and fallen into the deep end of love with her best friend.

 

Cautiously, she nodded. “You may have a point,” she acknowledged. “You said there were a couple of things, though. What was the other one?”

 

“You already love him, Em. You’ve admitted as much to me a few different times. Those feelings haven’t gone away, have they?”

 

Emma shook her head. “You know they haven’t.”

 

“Exactly. So things between you are  _ already  _ different because  _ you _ have made that leap - in your heart, at least. You can’t unfeel what you feel...If you tell him, either you’ll be able to work through it and let it go, or the more likely thing will happen.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“You’ll be ridiculously and disgustingly happy together and unseat the Nolans for the Cutest Couple in Storybrooke title,” Elsa finished triumphantly.

 

Emma rolled her eyes, but her smile grew. “ _ That _ is not possible. They’ve reigned for too long. Buuuuut...I think you’re right about the rest of it.”

 

“I know I am.”

 

Emma hesitated for a moment. “I’m scared, El.”

 

“Of what, exactly?” her sister asked, patience coloring her tone.

 

Emma had the feeling Elsa knew what she was going to say, but Emma forced herself to speak anyway. “I can’t lose him the way I lost Graham.”

 

Elsa was silent for a few moments. When she finally spoke her tone was serious, and her question, once again, was unexpected. “Do you regret being with Graham?”

 

“No!” Emma’s responded instantly. “But losing him was horrible and Killian...I know it’s not fair to compare them...but he means even  _ more  _ to me. I don’t know how I’d cope if we were together and he…”

 

Elsa nodded. “If you’d known what was going to happen, would you still have gotten involved with Graham?”

 

Emma sighed. “Of course. I’d never trade the time we had together.”

 

“I thought you’d say that,” Elsa said, her tone slightly smug. “So why wouldn’t that be true for you and Killian too?” Emma looked up to find her sister smiling at her through the screen. “The prosecution rests,” she said with a grin.

 

“Very clever, counselor,” Emma said with begrudging admiration.

 

“Thank you. Now, what are you going to do about Killian?”

 

Emma sighed again. “I don’t know. I’ve got to think of the right way to bring it up.”

 

“Well, personally I’d suggest blurting it at him and then tackle-kissing him,” Elsa teased.

 

Emma laughed, the tension starting to leave her body. “Just because that worked for Anna and Kristoff, doesn’t mean it’s going to work for me.”

 

“I know,” Elsa replied. “But whatever you decide to do...don’t wait too long. For both your sakes.”

 

* * *

**_February 23 - Early morning…_ **

 

Emma left the house feeling upbeat, her conversation with Elsa the day before having instilled a new sense of determination in her to finally,  _ finally _ talk to Killian about her feelings.

 

That determination lasted all of twenty minutes, and fizzled out abruptly when she approached Second Star after dropping Henry off at school. She’d planned on walking right into the bakery, grabbing her usual order, and confidently asking Killian if he wanted to get dinner that evening - somewhere other than Granny’s. Then at dinner she would tell him - she’d spent a lot of time the night before figuring out the best way to ease into it - and hope that Elsa was right and it wouldn’t ruin their friendship.

 

But as she walked up to the bakery, admiring the way the warm light from inside spilled out its wide front windows into the gray wintry bleakness of the overcast day, her steps slowed and then stopped.

 

_ What if Elsa’s wrong? It’s not like this is a gigantic town - we won’t be able to avoid each other...maybe this is a mistake. Being friends is good. It’s enough. _

 

Except the moment she spotted Killian through the windows, emerging from the back room with a tray of freshly baked muffins, the warmth that shot through her system and the fluttering feeling that burst to life in her belly proved her a liar. 

 

_ You can do this, Emma. _

 

With that final internal pep talk, she closed the remaining distance to the bakery and pushed inside. The bell over the door jangled merrily as she entered and Killian’s gaze followed the sound. As soon as his eyes caught hers, he grinned. “Why Swan, to what do I owe this pleasure? I thought you were covering the early shift this morning.”

 

“I am,” she replied, “but you know me...the earlier I have to go in, the more I want bear claws to offset the pain of doing paperwork. Care to help a girl out?”

 

“You know it, Swan,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Emma fought the urge to moisten her own in response, biting her bottom lip instead. Killian moved towards the front case and grabbed a couple of the biggest bear claws, dropping them into a light blue bag emblazoned with the Second Star logo and handing them to her. “Should still be warm - I put them out just a few minutes ago.”

 

“Thanks,” she said softly, swallowing hard.  _ This is it - now or never, Emma _ . “Hey listen, I was wondering if you were free-”

 

Before she could finish, the door swung open with such force its bell didn’t just ring, it nearly flew off. A gust of icy wind followed the entrance of a statuesque and elegantly dressed redhead who made a beeline for the counter without sparing a glance at Emma or bothering to close the door. “There you are, Killian darling!” she exclaimed in a lightly accented voice. “I’m just bursting with news!”

 

Emma felt her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He glanced in her direction briefly before responding to the other woman. “Good morning, Zelena,” he said quietly. “Lovely to see you again. Give me just a moment and I can give you my undivided attention.” 

 

The woman -  _ Zelena _ , Emma mentally corrected - whirled around, noticing Emma for the first time. A smile, bright but tinged with something a bit frightening around the edges, lit up her face before she turned back to Killian. “Alright,” she practically purred, “but don’t keep me waiting too long.” With that, she brushed past Emma and moved towards the corner table, gracefully sinking down into one of the chairs and pulling out her phone.

 

Emma looked at Killian, whose attention was still on the woman in the corner. She had no idea who this woman was or why she was treating Killian with such familiarity, but suffice it to say that the big moment she’d been gearing herself up for was gone. Gesturing to the door, Emma broke the brief silence that had fallen between them. “I, uh, actually  _ do _ have to get going,” she said, “but I’ll text you later, alright?”

 

What looked like disappointment flickered across Killian’s face, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Zelena piped up, her voice piercing the silence. “Whatever you’re doing tonight, cancel it,” she said, her words clearly aimed at Killian. “We’re going to need to celebrate and I’ve got just the place in mind.”

 

Suddenly, Emma couldn’t stand being in the bakery for one more moment. Barely meeting Killian’s eyes, she muttered a quick goodbye and stepped out into the coldness of the day, the freezing air seemingly penetrating her heart instantly. She thought she heard him call her name, but didn’t stop or look back. She was finding it hard to draw breath and emotions she refused to name had tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. 

 

_ There’s probably a rational explanation. Killian would have told you if he were seeing someone new,  _ she tried to reassure herself.  _ Wouldn’t he? _

 

The uncertainty followed her all the way to the station, and she had trouble concentrating for most of the morning. She was actually grateful for the call that came in just before lunch. It seemed the artistic vandal had struck again, this time down at the Cannery.

 

Thankful for anything to take her mind off Killian, she picked up her radio, let David know they had a case, and headed for the docks.

 

-/-

 

As Emma bolted from the bakery, not even stopping when he called after her, Killian’s heart sank. He’d been so glad to see her, but Zelena’s somewhat unexpected appearance and ill-timed interjections had thrown everything off. He  _ needed  _ the large contract she was offering him - supplying baked goods for the local chain of B&Bs she owned with her partner would have a huge impact on his business - but he wished she’d shown up at literally  _ any _ other time.

 

Turning back to her after it was clear Emma was truly gone, he mustered up a smile and agreed to meet Zelena and her partner, Cruella, at a quiet restaurant near the waterfront that evening to sign the contract and - as she put it - “celebrate properly.” As soon as they’d confirmed their dinner plans, she whirled back out the door in a flurry of red curls and a cloud of expensive perfume. He was momentarily frozen in place as he processed the events of the morning before shaking himself out of his stupor.

 

Before he could meet Zelena he had to finish setting out the rest of the items he’d already baked that morning, and in the afternoon he and his head bakery assistant, William Smee, had to start on several special order cakes. But first, he had a very important errand to run. He finished putting the muffins into the front case and headed back to the kitchen.

 

“Smee,” he said loudly in an attempt to get the other man to look up from where he was piping thin streams of melted chocolate in elaborate shapes onto waxed paper. Smee didn’t respond and Killian belatedly realized he’d popped headphones in. “Smee,” he repeated more loudly, tapping him on the shoulder. Smee startled, smudging one of the chocolate designs with the side of his hand.

 

“Oh dammit,” Smee muttered, dropping the piping bag on the counter and reaching for a rag. Pulling his headphones off, he glanced up at Killian. “Was that  _ really  _ necessary?”

 

“Sorry,” Killian replied, “but I need to head out a bit earlier than planned for that errand. Wendy should be in soon to cover the front, but can you finish setting everything else out and keep an eye out in case there are customers before she gets here? I’ll be back after lunch and we’ll get going on the first of those orders.”

 

Smee nodded. “Sure thing, boss. Hey, would you mind bringing back-”

 

“A tuna melt on rye and a double order of fries?” Killian guessed, and Smee nodded again. “Not a problem. See you in a bit.”

 

Killian took off his apron and hung it on a peg by the back door before grabbing his jacket, keys, and a satchel filled with several canisters of spray paint. Pulling his hat out of his jacket pocket, he tugged it down over his ears as he shouldered the door open and stepped out into the cold, crisp air. Walking down the alleyway that ran behind Second Star, he moved with purpose in the direction of the waterfront.

 

He was about to take the next step in his plan to court Emma - he only hoped it worked.

 

-/-

 

Emma stared at the back wall of the Storybrooke Cannery, her mouth slightly open in awe. Writing scrolled across the entire back wall of the building in looping, elegant lines. She’d not been immediately familiar with it, but a quick websearch had revealed it was part of a Shakespearean sonnet.

 

_ Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, _

_ But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  _

 

She gazed at the words - lines of green and gold boxed them in like a frame - for a moment longer. There was something vaguely familiar about the swoop and swirl of the writing, but she couldn’t  _ quite  _ put her finger on where she’d seen it before. She turned to Eric Prince, the Cannery’s day shift supervisor, with a frown. “You’re sure  _ no one _ saw who did this?”

 

Eric shrugged. “The first shift was in full swing and all my guys were on the line - it’s pretty quiet back here unless it’s lunchtime or shift change.”

 

Emma nodded. “Of course,” she said, feeling a bit defeated that once again she had nothing to go on. “Do you want to press charges when we find who did this?”

 

Eric looked at her, then up at the graffiti. “That’s not really up to me - I kind of like it. But you’re going to have to ask the owner.”

 

Emma sighed. Talking to old Mr. Svendsen, whose family had run the Cannery practically since Storybrooke had first existed, was not high on her list. (He was a sweet man, but getting on in years and notoriously hard of hearing - conversations with him tended to last forever and she just did  _ not  _ have the time). Still, she knew she had to see this through. “Alright,” she said. “Is he in his office?”

 

“Uh, yep.” Eric turned towards the building and Emma followed him inside.

 

Emma found, after a roughly half hour conversation, that Mr. Svendsen didn’t want was to press charges. He apparently  _ liked _ the graffiti, and decided it gave the building a nice change of pace.

 

Shaking her head as she stepped back outside, she turned to look at the graffiti once more. “I’ve  _ got  _ to be missing something here,” she muttered. “Twice in a month? In  _ this  _ town? It’s got to be the same person...but no one wants to press charges. I don’t get it.”

 

“Talking to yourself, Emma? That’s not good,” David said with a grin as he came around the corner of the building.

 

“Ha ha,” Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m just frustrated this has happened again and we’re no closer to figuring out who’s behind it than we were the first time -  _ and _ that the building owner doesn’t want to press charges this time either. I mean, it  _ is  _ a crime.”

 

“Well,” David said thoughtfully, “I see your point...but this isn’t the worst thing we’ve had to deal with on the job. It’s actually kinda romantic, isn’t it?”

 

“Not you too!” she cried, throwing up her hands in disbelief. “That’s practically the same thing that Eric and Svendsen said.”

 

“Well maybe we’re onto something,” he said with a grin, falling into step beside her as she headed back towards the cruiser.

 

“It’s more like you all have some kind of Valentine’s hangover,” she grumbled. “We’re supposed to enforce the law, David, not admire the work of vandals.”

 

“I  _ know _ that,” he said jovially. “But we can’t do anything if the owners don’t want to press charges...besides, you’ve got to admit, that,” he pointed over his shoulder at the graffiti, “is not just vandalism...whoever’s doing this is really  _ good _ .”

 

“I guess,” she conceded, though privately she  _ did _ agree with David. “Still wish we had some clue to go on though.”

 

David looked at her thoughtfully as they got in the cruiser and backed out of the parking lot. “I think  _ that’s  _ the real root of the problem.”

 

“What is?”

 

“It’s not that this is -  _ technically _ \- a crime that’s bothering you,” he replied. “You’re more upset you can’t figure out who did it.”

 

Emma was silent for a moment before she groaned. “Okay. Yes.  _ Fine _ . There are no real clues and no one will press charges so I feel like it’d be kind of pathetic if I keep investigating anyway, and the not knowing is driving me nuts, I’ll admit it. Okay?!”

 

“As long as you admit it,” David said, trying - and failing - to muffle his laughter.

 

“You are impossible,” she said, doing her best to inject a glare into her tone since she couldn’t take her eyes off the road long enough to actually look at him.

 

“Yeah, but I put up with you, so…”

 

“You’re just asking for it, aren’t you Nolan?” she replied, teasingly. “Well, just for that, you’re buying lunch,” she said as she parked near Granny’s.

 

They got out and headed towards the diner, David grumbling good-naturedly. As they reached the steps, the door swung open. Before Emma knew it, she was face to face with a slightly harried looking Killian.

 

After their encounter at Second Star earlier in the morning, Emma had hoped to have a bit more time to process her jumbled thoughts and emotions - but as she’d been actively trying to avoid thinking about how awkward it had been, she hadn’t  _ actually  _ dealt with anything she’d been feeling.

 

All of which led to  _ more  _ awkwardness now. They stared silently at each other for what felt like an absurdly long amount of time. Killian recovered more quickly, breaking their shared gaze and looking down at his feet for a moment before glancing back up at her. “Swan, I’m glad I bumped into you. You left so quickly this morning, I never got to explain-”

 

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Emma cut in, acutely aware of the fact they were standing in Granny’s open doorway and David was only a couple of feet behind her. “I had to get to work, you had plans to make. We’re both adults,” she said, dropping her voice so David couldn’t overhear her. “Not everything we do has to revolve around each other’s schedule.”

 

She’d been aiming for breezy and unaffected, but her tone must have come off as slightly bitter, because Killian flinched before plastering on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Right, of course. I know that, but I rather enjoy spending time with you, Swan...and I’d hoped you did too,” he muttered, before raising his voice to a more normal pitch and addressing both her and David. “Got to head back now. Smee gets disgruntled if I don’t feed him regularly,” he joked, lightly shaking the bag of food he had clutched in his hand. 

 

He brushed past her gently, giving her one last fleeting, emotion-filled glance before heading down the steps. She didn’t have time to react before he was gone and David was urging her inside.

 

She muddled her way through lunch, only half paying attention to David’s theories about the art vandal and his stories about what he and Mary-Margaret had done last weekend. She responded in the appropriate places, but part of her attention was elsewhere. 

 

She was still thinking about Killian when they headed back to the station for the rest of their shift. As they walked into the office, Emma’s phone buzzed. Fishing it out, she was a bit nervous to see a text from Killian. But when she read it, the tension she’d unconsciously been carrying leached out of her body and a smile spread across her face. 

 

**_KJ: Sorry if I was a bit rude when I saw you earlier, Swan. Big business dinner tonight - that slightly scary woman you met this morning is a new client who’s been keeping me on my toes._ **

 

She breathed a sigh of relief, which was quickly followed by a cringe of embarrassment - she couldn’t believe she’d been so ready to be jealous of someone who turned out to be a client of Killian’s. She was the one who owed Killian an apology for acting so strangely that morning - but she couldn’t really apologize without explaining  _ why _ she’d been out of sorts in the first place, and confessing your undying love for your best friend over text message just seemed unbearably like something out of one of Mary-Margaret’s beloved rom coms.

 

_ ES: Nothing to apologize for - I was the one who got kinda short with you. Sorry about that, btw. Hope all goes well tonight. Tell me all about it soon. Lunch tomorrow? _

 

His affirmative response came back nearly instantaneously, and Emma smiled. Her day was suddenly looking up, and tomorrow she’d have another chance to try to change things for the better between her and Killian. This time, she wouldn’t screw it up.

 

* * *

**_Late February-Early June…_ **

 

Emma  _ didn’t  _ screw up that second chance with Killian - but it wasn’t due to any great show of bravery on her part. 

 

Their lunch the day after their awkward encounter at Granny’s had been interrupted by Leroy, one of the workers at the town’s mine, getting into a fight with a group of bikers. Emma had had to dash out of the diner mid-lunch, apologizing profusely to Killian. He’d understood and they’d agreed to try for a movie night the following week.

  
But then Henry’d come down with the flu and Emma’d spent two weeks taking care of him and all thoughts of movie nights - and confessing feelings - were strictly off the table. When Henry was finally feeling better, it was Killian’s turn to be less available. The Easter season was always busy at Second Star, and ever since he’d signed the contract to be the main bakery supplier for Zelena and Cruella’s local chain of inns, he’d been flooded with work. He’d had to hire and train two new bakers just to keep up with the orders for the inns so he and Smee could focus on the rest of the bakery’s pre-existing workload. 

 

In the middle of all of that, Elsa had spontaneously visited for Ingrid’s birthday in late April, and, in a move that pretty much confirmed Emma’s suspicions about the two of them, Liam had turned up for an extended vacation around the same time - he’d stayed until almost the middle of May. Killian had been grateful to have the time with his brother (not to mention another set of hands in the bakery - the pair of them had practically been raised in their aunt and uncle’s bakery in England. Liam was  _ almost _ as skilled as Killian, even if he’d not pursued baking as a career), but by the time Liam had headed back home to London the spring had  _ flown _ by.

 

Emma also had been pursuing the artistic vandal all over town. In March, the side wall of the flower shop, Game of Thorns, was painted with “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more,” from Jane Austen’s  _ Emma _ . April saw the convent’s garden retaining wall get decorated with a portrait of a woman. Her face was mostly hidden, but her long golden hair seemed to float on an invisible breeze and her arm was outstretched. Most striking of all, she held a vibrant crimson heart in her hand.

 

In May, the artist (Emma had finally given up on calling him a vandal) was back to Shakespeare. This time it was a quote from  _ Much Ado About Nothing _ \- “ I were but little happy if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours” - covering the sidewalk in front of the middle school. The words were outlined and embellished with golden flourishes, and followed by a pair of clasped hands, the fingers interlaced. Something familiar about that image tugged at the back of Emma’s brain, but it refused to cohere into a usable clue.

 

Emma was still frustrated she couldn’t uncover the artist’s identity - particularly since after the art at Game of Thorns and the convent, it had become clear that whoever this artist was, they intended these messages for  _ her _ . A little voice in the back of her mind had wondered - at first - if she should be creeped out by that.

 

But there was just  _ something _ about this art that was familiar. It made her feel warm and safe, as though the artist’s emotions were bleeding through the work, reaching out, and wrapping around her. It made her feel cherished - she couldn’t bring herself to take a cynical view of it. After several pieces had appeared around town, she created a photo array of them all at the station, and spent far too many hours staring at them when she should have been working. 

 

(If a little voice in the back of her head insisted it was Killian...well, she chalked it up to her own wishful thinking and forced herself to set the thoughts aside).

 

The last several months had also wrought a difference in her relationship with Killian. Though they’d never really talked about the Valentine’s Day Near Kissing Incident, and the circumstances of their hectic lives had kept Emma from making another serious attempt to discuss her feelings with him, things had slowly and subtly shifted between them. 

 

In the few times they’d been able to spend any significant time together over the past few months, they’d been far more tactile - Killian curling an arm around her shoulder at Ingrid’s birthday party, Emma looping her arm through his as they strolled through the park, his hand on the small of her back as they listened to Liam tell stories about his work, and on and on.

 

They were  _ almost _ testing the waters of couplehood without explicitly discussing it - afraid if they examined what they were doing too closely, they wouldn’t have the courage to actually keep doing it. 

 

Emma wasn’t sure what had prompted it, but she was definitely enjoying it - it had made her even more hopeful that when she finally got a damn moment to make her confession, it would be well-received. 

 

But she was beaten to the punch before she could ever put her newfound resolve to the test.

 

* * *

**_First Saturday in June…_ **

 

“Hey Mom?” Henry’s voice preceded him down the stairs of their apartment, his heavy footfalls  _ thunking _ from his room to the kitchen where Emma was sitting at the table enjoying her morning coffee and flipping through the  _ Storybrooke Mirror _ .

 

“Yeah, kid?” she replied, looking up as he plopped himself down across from her.

 

“Could we go to the library today? Like, soon-ish? There’s a couple of books I need for a project, and uh...I  _ really  _ need Belle’s help finding them,” he said, fidgeting as he waited for her reply.

 

“Why’s it so urgent?” she asked, raising a brow expectantly. She had a feeling that she knew what was coming - she just needed Henry to say it.

 

“I, uh, didn’t exactly start it as soon as I should and...I can get it done in time, don’t worry!” he reassured her, “but I need to go pick up these books today if I’m going to make it happen,” he said, flashing her his best  _ i’m-cute-and-usually-better-prepared-than-this-so-please-don’t-punish-me-for-leaving-homework-till-the-last-minute-just-this-once _ grin.

 

After holding his stare for a moment, Emma shook her head and laughed under her breath. “Sure kid.” She had no doubt Henry would create something amazing, and it really  _ wasn’t _ like him to leave things late, so she wasn’t worried it would become a habit. “But why do you need me to go? Usually, you head down there on your own.”

 

“Yeah,” Henry agreed, “but I was kinda hoping we could go to Granny’s for pancakes after.”

 

“Ahhh, now the truth is revealed,” Emma laughed. She pretended to think for a moment, but really, Henry had gotten to her the moment he’d said pancakes. “Alright, kid. Let’s go.”

 

-/-

 

Emma should’ve suspected  _ something _ was up when - after they’d finally left the library and headed for the diner- she started getting slightly strange looks from the townsfolk. Everyone was smiling at her, and a few people gave her a thumbs up - most disturbingly, Leroy  _ winked  _ at her.

 

Shrugging it off and following Henry into Granny’s, she noticed her son was absorbed in his phone, texting with dizzying speed. “What’s up?” she questioned as they slid into a booth.

 

“Huh?” he looked up for a moment before his phone buzzed and he was engrossed again. “Oh, um, it’s just Avery...we’re trying to figure out plans for tomorrow. He was asking if I could come over for the afternoon. Can I, please?”

 

“Maybe.  _ If _ you get that project finished first, okay. Do that and then we’ll talk.”

 

“That’s fair,” Henry said with a grin as the waitress arrived at their table.

 

“I’m glad you think so,” Emma said with a chuckle. They ordered and spent the time waiting for their pancakes to arrive chatting about what Henry had done in school the prior week and some of the plans they’d already been making for his summer vacation (which, according to Henry, couldn’t start soon enough).

 

It wasn’t until Emma was paying their bill that Henry’s phone started buzzing again. He looked at it briefly and fired off a text before they headed out the door. As they descended Granny’s front steps, Henry spoke again. “Mom, do you mind if we walk home by the park?”

 

“Yeah, sure...You still need to get to your homework as soon as we get home, but I don’t see why not as long as we don’t stay too long,” she agreed. “It’ll help work off the mountain of pancakes we just inhaled.” They turned in the direction of the park, enjoying the warm breeze and dappled sunlight as it fell through the trees lining the wide streets.

 

Though Emma began to regret agreeing to Henry’s suggestion as even  _ more _ passers-by shot odd looks and smiles her way.  _ Seriously, what is UP with everyone today?! _

 

She didn’t have much longer to wonder. As they approached the park, Emma saw her name, painted in large, looping curls and swoops, stretching across the sidewalk in front of the main entrance gate. An arrow, outlined in gold, pointed down the walkway leading away from the gate, and she could just make out the clustered shapes of several hearts a few feet beyond that. “What?” she asked, dumbstruck. “Henry, did you  _ know _ this would be here?” she glanced back at her son, who had stopped a few feet behind her.

 

_ Well, this certainly explains all the strange looks. _

 

“Uh, maybe?” he replied sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yes, kinda,” he corrected. “Okay, yes.”

 

“Wait a minute,” she turned back to face him. “Do you  _ know _ who’s been behind this? Have you known the whole time?”

 

“Look, Mom...but don’t you want to find out who’s at the other end of that path?” he asked. “I’m going to head home and get started on my project, and,” he continued, seeing she had opened her mouth to interject, “I’ve asked Mary-Margaret to come around and keep an eye on me - so don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Go!” he smiled at her encouragingly and shooed her towards the park entrance.

 

“Don’t think you’re getting out of telling me every  _ single  _ thing later, Henry David Swan,” she warned, though the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth made her words far less stern than she’d intended. He nodded and took off down the street as she turned back to the park entrance.

 

She gazed at her name again for a moment before stepping into the park and onto the path. As she followed the arrow to the cluster of hearts, her pulse accelerated and a sense of nervous excitement settled over her. A little further into the park, the path diverged and she looked around in momentary confusion before spotting more words painted on the left-hand path, the one leading towards the gazebo in the center of the park.

 

“ This is it. This is life...” she murmured aloud, reading along with the words. There was something vaguely familiar about the phrasing - it tugged at her memory, and she must have recognized it on some subconscious level, because her pulse kicked up even further.

 

She followed the path a bit further and saw more words painted on the old, cracking asphalt.

 

“...And I'm in love with you...I think that's the only thing I've ever really been sure of in my entire life…” she whispered, again reading along with the text. Another group of hearts and another golden arrow followed that part of the quote, which she now recognized was from  _ Garden State _ . 

 

In that moment, she was certain.

 

She’d had her suspicions - and hopes - as to who the mystery artist was. But that quote cemented it. Her steps picked up speed as she headed for the last stretch of the path, looking ahead as she approached the gazebo.

 

There, stretching along the last section of the pathway, were the final words. “... I don't want to waste any more of my life without you in it.” Killian stepped out from under the roof of the gazebo, a small smile on his face. “Hello, Swan,” he murmured.

 

She didn’t stop moving, she didn’t slow down - in fact she sped up as she got closer to him, and when she reached him, she promptly punched him in the shoulder.

 

“Oi!” he cried, “what was that for?”

 

“It was  _ you  _ all this time?!” she shouted. “Do you know how crazy you’ve been driving me?!”

 

“I’ll have to admit, I’d envisioned you saying something like that - but in a decidedly different tone,” he muttered, wincing a bit and reaching up to rub at where she’d punched him. “Look...I realize this might’ve been a rather...elaborate...way of confessing my feelings...but you have to know, Emma. It’s you...it’s  _ been  _ you for quite some time now, and that’s  _ not  _ going to change.” He raked his hands through his hair, nerves visibly increasing as her silence continued. “I’m trying to say I love you, Swan, and thinking of how to tell you has been bloody terrifying-”

 

“So you decided to do it in the most public way possible?” she asked, finally finding her voice. “That was a big risk.”

 

“Aye,” he said, taking a few cautious steps closer to her. He reached out and cupped her face in his hand, his fingers sliding just into the hair behind her ear as his thumb brushed her cheek. “But you deserved the grandest of romantic gestures, love. I was willing to take the chance.”

 

Her arms wound around his waist as she stepped even closer to him, until there was really no space left between them at all. She took a deep breath.  _ Here goes _ . “I love you, Killian. It  _ was _ you...all this time,” she continued, her tone infinitely softer and laced with her abundant affection. She pressed up on her tiptoes, whispering, “do you know how crazy you’ve been driving me?” against his mouth before sealing her lips to his.

 

They sank into the kiss, their embrace growing closer and closer until Emma’s arms were draped over Killian’s shoulders and his were wrapped firmly around her waist. They had difficulty parting from one another, even when breathing became a pressing issue. They dove back in for kiss after kiss, becoming lost in each other.

 

_ It’s really amazing how different this is when you love someone so deeply _ , Emma thought hazily as Killian nibbled at her lower lip. She gasped sharply at the sensation, his tongue flicking out and soothing the spot before darting into her mouth to curl around her own. Just like that, their kiss took on another dimension, growing more passionate, hotter, wetter, and deeper - and Emma could no longer think at all.

 

Long moments later, they finally drew back, but kept their foreheads pressed tightly together. As they tried to regain their breath, Emma chuckled.

 

“What, love?” Killian said, a soft smile on his face.

 

“Oh, just...clearly Henry was in on this whole thing, I know that much now,” she said, pulling back to look at him. “But you’re going to have to tell me how you pulled all of this off without anyone wanting to press charges over any of the paintings...how much of the town was part of your master plan?”

 

“Well, love,” he said with a grin, taking every chance he could to use her new nickname. “That sounds like a perfect story for our first date.” He turned and started walking back up the path away from the gazebo, curling his arm around her shoulders when she fell into step next to him. “Can I pick you up tomorrow night at seven?”

 

She looked up at him, her face feeling like it would split in two from the force of her grin. “That sounds perfect.”

 

* * *

**_One year later…_ **

 

The graffiti appeared once again, after another sleepy year in Storybrooke - but this time, Emma had no doubts as to its source. One morning when she opened the door of the seaside cottage she and Henry now shared with Killian, the simple question,  _ Will you marry me, Swan?  _  looped its way down the front walk to the welcome sight that was Killian, down on one knee, at their gate.

 

(His smile was bright, his cheeks were flushed, and while one hand held a very particular type of jewelry box, the other nervously tugged at the hair behind his right ear).

 

Killian grinned when she used her own can of spray paint (shoved in her hand by Henry before he’d nudged her out the door) to write her simple, but perfect, response right next to his knee.

 

_ Yes _ .

  
  



End file.
